Anthology
by Iniora Nackatori
Summary: Buffy Summers, daughter of Joyce Summers, granddaughter of... Vincent Belmont. Fate didn't pick Buffy to be the Slayer just because; it picked her to screw with her bloodline. Which is something her great-to-the-n'th-degree grandpa Gabriel is Not Amused with... Plot Bunny for adoption!


Synopsis: Buffy Summers, daughter of Joyce Summers, granddaughter of... Vincent Belmont. Fate didn't pick Buffy to be the Slayer just because; it picked her to screw with her bloodline. Which is something her great-to-the-n'th-degree grandpa Gabriel is Not Amused with... Plot Bunny looking for a good home!

Set Castilvania: Lord of Shadows timeline, two decades post Lord of Shadows 2, and around the time Buffy hikes over to LA. I'm only a casual fan of both series so apologies in advance if I screw up the lore. I own nothing but this insane idea of a plot.

I don't have a full storyline fleshed out for these folks, so its going to be a grouping of one-shot short stories. Consider this a pile of plot bunnies for adoption. Just put a reference back to me, if you please.

These will be numbered; but not always chronological.

_**Anthology**_

**I.**

There were times in LA where Buffy could forget. Forget the supernatural; forget the Hellmouth. Even, sometimes, she could forget the horrible _woosh_ of Angel's soul being sucked into Hell. She could just... be. No Giles to hover over her shoulder like a mother hen, no Willow babbling in her ear, and no Xander trying to comfort/hit on her. No Cordelia ripping her fashion choices apart, no Spike, no mom...

Hiding in the woman's restroom, Buffy gulped down a sob. The diner floor needed disinfectants, not tears. Then again, Buff wasn't sure any of this mess would come out with any chemical short of napalm. Or would that be too much of a Xander answer? Slayer strength plus industrial solvent should do it.

"Anne? You okay, sugar?"

Layla. Ms. "Native of LA by way of Arizona". If Mac was sending her in to flush "Anne" out, then it'd been longer than the five minutes Mac allowed his servers for bathroom breaks.

"Yeah." _Deep breath. Make sure not to sob_. "Fine." Unlatching and walking out of the restroom stall, she walked right in to Layla's bear of a hug. "Um... air?"

Layla pulled back; it was a comfort and a hurt to see the gentle smile on her face. "You sure you're alright, sugar? When that customer walked in you turned white as a sheet!"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Buffy stepped back out of touching range, walking around to the single sink. "Still just trying to get used to the night shift, that's all."

"Uh-huh." Layla had the classic, _You're a horrible liar and we both know it_, look, but did not press Buffy for a truthful answer. "Well. You take whatever time you need, sugar. We've got a fresh pot of coffee brewed." Layla paused before opening the door to give Buffy one final smile. "And a full shipment of Red Bull in the back."

The Red Bull was all fine and dandy. It was the fact she may have to dust a vampire in the middle of the diner that was sending Buffy down memory lane. And the guy couldn't be anything other than a vampire: Moonlight white hair, yellow on black eyes, uber pale complexion. To say nothing of his outfit! What, was he still wearing the same outfit he'd been Turned in? Hello! Welcome to the 2000s, where fashionable people did _not_ wear navy blue longcoats instead of shirts. Those super tight pants of his, covered in armor, did not help. That being said, she couldn't fault his reasoning. If he'd been human still, he'd be hot.

But because he was, indeed, a vampire, Buffy had a Problem. Which had little to do with the fact she _liked_ this job. It paid the rent at least.

Since the dead of night was never very lively – and all the undead folks tended to hang at bars – Mac never had more than two servers at a time. Layla had moved to stand behind the counter; barely visible behind her, through the kitchen window, Mac was chewing on a toothpick – and watching "Anne", 'natch. The vampire had taken a seat in a booth facing towards her. His eyes caught hers and his expression went... weird. Not the expected, "There's the Slayer let's eat!" It was more like... like...

Like when she'd been six, and scrapped her knee in softball. Her mom had given her much the same look. A mix between relief that she was fine and concern that she'd been hurt and wanting to rush over to give her a hug even though that'd be so _embarrassing_.

Okay, that was.. weird. Taking out her notebook as she walked, Buffy made sure to double check her steak was in easy grabbing range. Because, you know, this guy wasn't acting creepy _at all_.

"Hi ya."

"Good evening," the vampire replied in kind. His accent reminded her of Sean Conway.

"I'm afraid we don't have any blood from virgins, so can I offer you chocolate pie instead? Its worth dying for. What?" Buffy matched the vampire's slack jawed expression with a raised eyebrow. Go ahead, she dared him. Go ahead and say you're not a vampire. Please.

The vampire shook his head and mumbled something about the cures of fate under his breath. Didn't exactly sound upset. More like a resigned chuckle.

"You must be Buffy Summers."

Buffy stiffened, and started to say, "Check the name tag, its Anne."

But the vampire cut her off after the first word: "Buffy Summers, daughter of Joyce Summers, and granddaughter of Vincent Belmont. No one else could be half as cavalier about vampires."

All of a sudden, Buffy felt the exact opposite of composed. "How do you know about grandpa Vincent?" She vaguely remembered photos of him: A hulking bear of a man missing one eye with a tattoo of a winged shield on his chest. Dad had hated him. Mom had tolerated him. Buffy remembered his chocolate chip cookie recipe. None of the family had ever really talked about him at all. He'd been dead since before Buffy had been born.

"There are twenty generations between yourself and I. It has taken me near ten years to confirm it all." The vampire thought about holding out his hand, as if to take her hand in his. He thought better of it and folded his hands in front of him on the table. "My name, is Trevor Belmont. Or at least it was, when I was still alive. I suppose you could say... I'm your great grandfather."

Buffy stared at him, a look so fierce he should have imploded. Instead the vampire offered his hand.

Buffy took it and sat down across from him. Eyes like his may have been creepy and very not of the good... but he wasn't lying.

"You have a soul, don't you?"

The vampire raised an eyebrow, asking without words, _And you have to ask... why?_

"Oh man. You do. That's..."

"We'll speak more when you're off shift, my wayward granddaughter." The vampire patted her hand. "I'm eager to catch up on all your exploits. I'll leave you to your work now."

"Wait. Just..." Ripping off her apron, Buffy rushed over to the counter. "Layla, I have got to go. That's my great uncle. Everybody thought he was dead but, nope! Here he is. Just, poof, right back in town without so much as a note beforehand."

"You thought he was dead?" Layla gasped. At Buffy's affirmative, Layla said, "Well no wonder you went pale as death when he walked in here! Well now you go on and scoot. Scoot I say!"

"But Layla...!" Mac started to complain.

"Oh hush, Mac," Layla waved him to silence. "It ain't every night a genuine miracle comes walkin' in the door." To Buffy she ordered, "You go on now, sugar." The vampire was already on his feet; he was a good two feet taller than Buffy.

"Thanks Layla."

"See you tomorrow night, sugar. And," Layla batted her eyelashes at the vampire, "hope to see you again real soon, handsome."

Buffy shoved the vampire (it was just _weird _to think of him as grandpa) out the door with all due haste. The vampire got in a, "Good night," before Buffy shut the door behind him. Vampire plus Layla equals where the hell did she stash the brain bleach.

"She seems a good and kind soul," the vampire commented.

"Oh so no going there."

"Nor was I. I did find true love before Death found me. How else would you and I be kin?"

Oh god. So _not_ going there either!

The vampire must have seen her blushing because he chuckled. Taking her arm in his, he walked down the sidewalk. "Come. Father is anxious to meet you as well."

"Father? Like, your vampire father? Or did your living dad get turned into a vamp, too?"

"Both." He chuckled at Buffy's blink. "The Belmont family has a long history behind it. But both he and I are delighted to know we still have living kin. It makes the centuries all the easier to know you have loved ones who are well. But I must ask: Why did you inquire if I had a soul?"

"Because nine out of ten vamps don't?"

"Nine out of...? How many vampires have you faced to date?"

"A couple hundred? I mean, I am the Vampire Slayer. They sort of come at me in packs, ya know? Bad nights are when they bring in demons..." Buffy trailed off as the vampire stopped walking. Buffy blinked. "You... did know I was the Slayer, right? ...right?"

The vampire took an unnecessary but calming deep breath. "I believe it prudent to get to my father right now, before either of us explain anything." Under his breath, just low enough normal humans couldn't hear it, the vampire added, "Or before I do something rash."

In about ten minutes of silent travel by foot, the duo reached a cathedral. Buffy looked over its entrance a few times. Standard gargoyles and praying angels, flying buttresses, and typical stained glass windows. Very Gothic. Not a bad place for a vamp to hole up for the day, either. The one problem was Buffy could not remember there being an ancient Gothic cathedral within ten minutes' walk of the diner before.

"And when did this get here?" she asked.

A new voice, a hint more British than her current vampire escort's voice, answered her question: "Yesterday morning."

A vampire as tall and as shirtless as the one standing next to her walked out from the cathedral's oak doors. This one had a red with gold trim longcoat on instead of blue, and a mane of black hair instead of white. Also wearing tight fitting pants, but without the armor; instead he had a skull motif belt buckle that that reached from his groin to just under his chest muscles. The crunchy flavor peanutbutter to her escort's creamy.

"This is her. One of the last living Belmonts." Eyes as red as blood never left her even as he asked, "Alucard. Were you followed?"

Alucard? Must be his underworld vamp name. Kind of like how Spike was really named William the Bloody Awful Poet, but preferred the badass sounding Spike instead.

Alucard was gently but firmly pushing her towards the cathedral's entrance. "No, father, we were not. But we do seem to have a... situation."

This declaration got daddy vamp's attention. "Situation?" he demanded.

"Inside," Alucard suggested, putting words into actions.

One foot inside the cathedral, and Buffy knew she wasn't in Kansas any more. There was an otherworldly feel to the place. In a way it reminded her of the portal Acathla had started to open... but instead of leading to Hell, this place felt like... like... Well, pretty obviously not Heaven.

"Welcome to Belmont Castle Cathedral." Alucard had to push her the rest of the way inside.

"This place is not on the mortal realm, is it?" Buffy asked, because she had to ask.

"Perceptive," papa vampire chuckled. "This place both is and is not on the mortal realm. Physically, it is located in Castlevania City, England. Yet so long as there is an established connection, we can travel to any place on Earth I will."

"We've set a connection in Sunnydale as well. But when we found you were not there... well." Alucard almost shrugged, even though he was still pushing her forward. This place was set up like a church but it felt so... off-putting. Like the walls were watching her.

"So how'd you find me?"

"I willed the castle to find you, child." Dad vampire stopped in front of the cathedral's central alter. "Now. You will explain why you are not with your mother. And why some _idiot_ who has less brains than the average Brotherhood member has decided you're guilty of murder."

"Murder?" Alucard echoed, stunned. "Murder? That's insane!"

Buffy quietly sunk into an empty pew. These things were surprisingly comfy. Either that or she was in shock. These vampires had never met her before, and they clearly didn't know what a Slayer was, yet they already trusted her over Herr Snyder.

"Well, child?"

Buffy folded her hands over her lap. Looking up into those inhuamn eyes, one pair the color of blood, one pair the color of wolf's eyes, and maybe – if this place wasn't playing tricks on her – she saw kindness and understanding and love. Taking a leap of faith, she decided.

"Guess I should start at the beginning, then. Giles tells it way better, but... Into every generation, a Slayer is born; one girl in all the world, a Chosen One. She alone will wield the strength and skill to fight the vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness; to stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their numbers. She is the Slayer.

"This generation. The Slayer is me. Let me tell ya, it sucks."


End file.
